


The Chelsea Hotel

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hotels, Non-Canon Relationship, One Shot, Romance, Sharing a Bed, after the end, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end -after all the troubles they had to face- Alex and Strand find comfort in an oddity of a hotel and in each other's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chelsea Hotel

It’s over, it’s really over, she thinks as she sinks to her knees on the ground. The world is silent. And all she wants to do is scream. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out expect a strangled sigh.

Strand is by her side, looking at the sky, in awe and shock of what the two just witnessed. He is holding his broken glasses, one of many things they lost, a minor loss compared to the others. The world is a mess around them. But there’s nothing they can do about it now. They have done their jobs.

Strand squeezes her shoulder. It’s time for them to go. Strand drives. He drives well despite his lack of glasses. She asks about it. He says he doesn’t need them to drive, they’re just for reading small printed texts. She doesn’t press any further. He goes well over the speed limit. They don’t play any music, there’s not a song in the world that can describe what they saw in the past few hours. And if there was one, it would’ve been inappropriate to play. Strand tell hers to sleep, so she does to the hum of the engine of the car.

He wakes her when they reach a hotel, a small little place off the side of the highway. It’s bright pink, like flamingos or fruity bar drinks or sunsets, with a goofy, neon sign that gleams in the dark and reads "The Chelsea Hotel, Vacancies Available", and kitschy decor all around the parameter. Fifties jukebox rock leaks out of the walls. It doesn’t bother her, it makes her smile. It reminds her of the dive bars she would haunt in her youth. Strand on the other hand looks bothered by the brightness of it all. She holds his hand.

“We can’t be choosers.” She whispers.

Strand nods. They step inside. The foyer smells like incense. White Christmas lights are strung around the red walls and fight for space against the poster prints of movie stars. Alex won’t lie, it’s a little too much for tastes, but there's odd charm that surrounds the place. The receptionist ,a lady with shiny black hair and red cat eye glasses, regards them with a mischievous smile. Her name tag says Chelsea. She looks she’d make an excellent intern, eyes quick like a whip and a smile that would win any secret. Alex feels naked under the woman’s sharp gaze.

“Two rooms for one night, ma’am.” Strand says curtly, but politely. The receptionist’s smile gets wider.

“Couple’s spat dearies?”

Alex coughs to hide her laughter. Strand looks back at her with a scowl.

“Just a really long day.” Strand replies stiffly. The receptionist buys it without another word. Strand pays and she hands them the keys.

“The rooms are attached if you decide to reconcile.” She says with a wink.

Strand takes the keys and goes up to their rooms. Alex goes back to the car to grab their bags. When she finds him, he is standing outside their doors. She hands him his leather messenger bag, Strand gives her the key. And they retreat into their rooms.

The first thing Alex does is shower. Against her mother’s tried and true advice, she turns the heat all the way up and lets the scalding water hit her at full force. And she stands under the stream, still as a statue, eyes closed. The room is filled with water hitting tiles, her heavy sighs and hisses when the water gets too hot for her. She scrubs her skin roughly, as though she can scrape away the past few hours away.

She steps out a few minutes later, toweled off and in clothes not coated in chalk and dust. She looks in the mirror; she looks like a normal mid-30 year old woman who looks younger than she actually is. A little tired and worn–nothing a nap and some good food can fix- but she doesn’t feel normal. She doubts she ever will again. Normal was the time before this project. Normal was when she was working with PNWS. Normal was when she didn’t know about demons, devil doors, bilocation, and a certain skeptical doctor who was too damn smart, stubborn, and –infuriatingly- handsome for his own good. Alex stares in the mirror as she dries her hair, working in the hair cream the hotel provided into her locks. It smells like strawberries, and she feels it was too luxurious to ignore. When she’s done, she tucks the bottle into her bag. It’s not like a normal hotel bottle, it’s bright pink with gold, glittery letters. Her mother – a devout hotel shampoo and conditioner bottle stealer herself- would be proud. This place was a dream, and she felt that if she didn’t take something from it, she would never find it again. She needed proof, just like Strand.

And something deep inside her tells her she needs to see Strand. And she obeys without hesitation. She's tired of fighting. She goes through the wooden door that connects their rooms, not even bothering to knock. After all they went through, what was the point of trying to lock the other out or building walls when they were just going to get torn down?

She finds Strand standing into front of the mirror, combing through his wet hair. His clothes are nicer now- no more jeans and t shirts- but back into his usual armor of an ironed, white shirt, black pants, and polished dress shoes. He found time to put on his tie, the blue one with silver stripes she always liked. She notices he’s sporting a new pair of glasses. He looks the same, but the look he gives her when he sees her in the mirror’s reflection says it all.

“Do you need something Alex?” he says, turning to face her, setting the comb down the dresser He is open to her now. 

She crosses the space between them and wraps her arms him in, nearly knocking the air out of his lungs. She squeezes, pressing her face into his shirt. She doesn’t smell dust or smoke anymore, but instead his aftershave, cologne,  toothpaste, and his detergent. She buries herself in him, and he returns the gesture, letting restraint go and wrapping her in his arms. There is nothing they can do except be here, in the present, waiting for the future, feeling everything they can: their heartbeats, their breathing, the muscles that twitch under every stray touch, the sharpness of their bones, and the sighs of when they eventually have to part.

Strand holds her hands in his, admiring how well they fit against his, how everything about her just fits with no extra maneuvering or gesture, like oil and water. He’s so much bigger than her, he can command the room with a single word, and yet before her she feels like she overpowering him. And she doesn’t know why, but all she does is accept it. Strand kisses her hands. It’s gentle and it’s warm and it’s all for her.

Alex does the same, kissing the hands that have done so much for her the past months. They’ve hurt her and helped her, calmed, comforted, consoled, and terrified her. His hands are warm from his shower, and she can smell the drops of cologne he placed on his wrists. Strand smiles, his cheeks somewhat red whether from the shower or embarrassment, she doesn’t know.

“Still need anything?” he says.

“Just you.” She replies, because he has nothing to offer her, but himself and asking anymore would’ve been selfish.

She takes her key back to Chelsea; she doesn’t need another room anymore.

Later that night, they have dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. They feast like royalty, both ordering the most expensive stuff on the menu, neither caring about the price or the actually quality of the food, but rather the sheer experience and joy derived from  eating something that wasn’t fast food, together in each other’s presence. The waiter asks what occasion they are celebrating when he brings them each a slice of chocolate cake (Alex’s choice) and a bottle of wine (Strand’s decision). They both look at one another before shrugging and laughing.

“Living!” Alex says gleefully.

“Surviving.” Strand counters with an easy smile, tempering her excitement while not completely ruining the mood.

They eat in peace, ignoring the strange looks the other guests give them when their laughter gets a little louder. They celebrate everything and toast to nothing in particular, just happy that they are alive and together, knowing fully well that hours before they scared beyond belief and at the edge of death. Miraculously, whether by divine intervention, good fortune, dumb luck, or their smarts, they are alive. They pay and tip the waiter when they finish eating, and stumble back into their room, drunk on wine and each other.

They fall into bed, barely able to undress the other, heads heavy from their celebration. And like their dinner, they savor one another’s presence. Alex rests her head on Strand’s chest, admiring how his heart keeps time to the jukebox that plays in the distance and how gentle he plays with her hair. He touches and strokes her hair in a way that his fingers glide smoothly, missing every tangle and knot. When they fall asleep, she is on top of him, with his arms wrapped firmly around her waist. The world around them is silent for their sake, save for their in sync heartbeats and the music that floats gently through the air.

They sleep well that night and when they wake up, they are pleased and satisfied to know that none of it was a dream. Alex touches his cheek just make sure, letting his stubble scratch her skin. He’s tired, not used to be up so early, but she thinks he looks just as handsome as always.

“We are alive.” She whispers.

“We are alive.” He replies with a smile.

They reason that the world or their co-workers don’t need them just yet. They stay for another night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! Inspired by a prompt by swanjolras and the song "Chelsea Hotel #2" covered by Lana Del Rey. Let me know what you think of it and if there are any errors or ooc-ness.


End file.
